


The Disappearance Of Lady Frances Carfax (1901)

by Cerdic519



Series: Elementary 221B [192]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Edwardian, Destiel - Freeform, F/M, Framing Story, Gay Sex, Inheritance, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Romance, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-11 01:41:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11704176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: The welcome re-appearance of the bubbly Miss Charlotta Bradbury heralds a case when Sherlock is called upon to find the lady who has been kidnapped. Or has she?





	The Disappearance Of Lady Frances Carfax (1901)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aely](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aely/gifts).



Ever since their disagreement over my relationship with Sherlock, he and his brother Bacchus had seen very little of each other, remaining in contact for professional reasons but nothing more. I have to say that this did not greatly upset me, and any celebrations that I may or may not have had as a result were purely coincidental. 

Yes they _were!_

I had not expected much from Sherlock's family as our relationship became increasingly clear to them, and I had been grateful for the understanding shown by Sir Charles, though I heard from his daughter Mrs. Thompson that Lady Holmes had been a driving force behind that, going so far as to clout any son who openly opposed our 'union'. Mycroft's hostility, along with Gaylord's studied indifference, I could ignore, but bearing in mind everything that Sherlock had done for Bacchus, I felt entitled to have expected better from the insufferable lounge-lizard. His recent absence had been more than a good thing, in my opinion.

Possibly the only downside to having less of the unwelcome sponger in our lives was that it also meant we had fewer dealings with Miss Charlotta Bradbury, who was now supplying the government with a steady flow of information. So it was a most welcome surprise when the lady herself arrived at Baker Street one day.

It was the middle of February, and the depressing weather was matched by the streets, still bedecked for the recent funeral of Her Majesty. Like many Britons, I privately dreaded the prospect of Edward the Seventh (he had never liked his Christian name of Albert, though he had tactfully claimed he wanted his late father alone to be honoured for it). After the great Victoria, we found ourselves with a libertine on the Imperial throne, and at a time of increasing dangers across Europe. It did not bode well.

I had just been reading the maiden Commons speech by a new Liberal member of parliament called Mr. Winston Churchill, for whom the _“Times”_ writers predicted great things (as per usual; I was sure that we would never hear of the fellow again), when Miss Bradbury was announced. She had timed her advent well; Sherlock was just finishing his second cup of coffee, and was now fairly coherent.

“I know that I am not usually the person to call you in on things like this”, she began, “but in the course of my business, I have run up against something rather odd, and I would be grateful if you could focus those investigative powers of yours onto it.”

“What is it?” Sherlock asked, yawning. He had been suffering from a mild flu for much of the last week, and neither of us had slept much as a result. I yawned in sympathy, and Miss Bradbury looked knowingly at me. I tried not to blush.

“Have you read anything in the papers about Lady Frances Carfax?” she asked.

“I have not”, I said. “The name sounds familiar, though.”

“Her brother Ferdinando was in the papers last year”, she said. “He was expelled from the Carbonara Club for hitting a servant who, he claimed, had not bowed low enough to him.”

“Charming!” I muttered. 

“There are three Carfaxes”, Miss Bradbury informed us. “Ferdinando and his sister Fenella, both single - thankfully for humanity! And Lady Frances, who married one Mr. Christophorius Peartree, but insisted that she keep her maiden name, and that any children of theirs bear her name rather than his. Typical of the woman, I must say.”

“And now she has disappeared?” I asked. “Are you sure that we _want_ to find her?”

Sherlock shot a look at me. I shrugged, and Miss Bradbury grinned.

“I have an inkling as to what may have happened”, she admitted, “but in my line of business, I cannot risk making accusations. The Carfaxes may be an unpleasant bunch of slime-balls, but they are also an _influential_ , unpleasant bunch of slime-balls!”

“Mr. Peartree”, I said thoughtfully. “Is he related to Lord Peartree, the government minister at the War Office?”

“That is his brother Chrysippus”, Miss Bradbury said. “The sad thing is that those two got off lightly compared to the rest of their siblings. Their mother virtually guaranteed that they would be tortured at school when she named them.”

(I did subsequently check up on the rest of the Peartree family names. Sure enough, there were four more brothers – Cæculus, Cephælion, Corinthus and Creon, and two sisters, Chloris and Callisto. Maybe the French have a point when it comes to not allowing parents certain naming choices).

“Where do Mr. Peartree and Lady Carfax reside?” Sherlock asked.

“Where else?” she said wryly. “Carfax Place; it is in Aboukir Square, in Paddington. She left there Friday afternoon, and has not been seen since. And there is one other thing that you should know before starting. When Mr. Peartree agreed to her conditions of marriage, he managed to secure something in return. If their union ends in any way _other_ than his wife leaving him, then he gets half of her estate. And if she were to be deemed by the courts to have disappeared, that would count.”

“So he has motive”, Sherlock said. “As well as means and opportunity. Have the police interviewed him yet?”

She pulled a face.

“That is another reason for my interest in the case”, she said. “That awful chap from Paddington, Winter, is on the case. In fact, it was he who got me involved.”

“How so?” I asked, surprised.

“I was seeing a client in the square, and he tried to question me”, she said, looking decidedly cross. “I applied my knee to a certain part of his anatomy when he got a little too close for comfort, and that put an end to that! Oh, I forgot; Mr. Peartree works as a jeweller in Marylebone. The shop is called simply 'C. Peartree's'.”

“Do you believe that Lady Frances has been kidnapped?” Sherlock asked.

“I do not”, she said. “Though I have nothing but gut instinct telling me that.”

“For you, Miss Bradbury, that is more than enough”, Sherlock said with a smile. “We will investigate this case for you.”

She smiled.

+~+~+

We had hoped to catch Inspector Baldur at his station, but the sergeant there told us that he was off for a time, as his wife had last week given birth to their sixth child. We therefore adjourned to his house in Canonbury, where the frazzled policeman looked glad for the interruption. After we had seen and praised the newest addition to our friend's growing family, we adjourned to the garden.

“The Lady Frances case”, the inspector said, peering over the top of his newly-acquired gold-rimmed glasses, his eyes red with lack of sleep. “Yes, Winter has it. He is sure that the husband had done away with her. Only the funeral and our new king have kept it off the front pages, I suppose, and that will not last. I most heartily wish you joy of it.”

“Why do you say that?” I asked. He chuckled.

“Lady Frances' brother and sister were at the station on my last day in, thinking that we were the investigating officers”, he said. “Aboukir Square is right on the border between our patch and Paddington, you see. And talk! They would _not_ shut up! It took ten minutes just to get it across to them that they were in the wrong place, and then they just stormed out. No apology or anything. No manners, some nobs.”

He gazed fondly at his wife, who was being helped by their eldest boy, Odin, to care for baby Freya.

“Mr. Peartree's shop is definitely 'on your patch', though”, Sherlock observed. “Do you know him at all?”

“Yes, I do”, the sergeant said with a smile. “There was an attempted break-in last year, and his partner, Mr. Xavier Delamore, was in the store and managed to catch one of the thieves. Mr Delamore is tall, dark and, I have to say, pretty unfriendly, or at least withdrawn. Mr. Peartree did the paperwork of the case for us and came down here to sign it off. A much more pleasant fellow. I do not have a clue as to what awful thing he had done in a previous life to end up marrying Lady Frances, but it must have been _really_ bad!”

We both chuckled.

+~+~+

We went next to the jeweller's shop in Marylebone. A tall dark fellow in his late thirties was neatly wrapping something up for a customer, presumably as a gift for someone. He handed the finished package over and bowed, and she left the shop, smiling. He looked at us curiously.

“Mr. Xavier Delamore?” Sherlock asked.

“I am he”, the man said, clearly wary. “Who might you gentlemen be?”

Sherlock seemed to stare at him for a time before answering.

“Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson", he said at last. "We are investigating the disappearance of Lady Frances Carfax.”

The shutters promptly slammed down on the man's face.

“I am afraid that I cannot help you”, he said coldly. “Good day, gentlemen.”

“This concerns your.... partner”, Sherlock said softly, placing his hand on the counter and fingering the two rings on it. 

Mr. Delamore had turned to head out the back of the store, but he froze at those words and looked at Sherlock, who slowly nodded. The shop-owner seemed to slump.

“Of course!”, he said, sounding almost bitter. “ _You_ would know!”

“How long?” Sherlock asked.

“We opened five years ago”, he said resignedly. “A tiny place, in a back alley not far from here. Then, the end of 'Ninety-Nine, this place came on the market. It was perfect, but we couldn't afford it. So.....”

He sighed heavily.

“So Mr. Peartree married Lady Carfax for the money to expand the shop”, Sherlock finished for him.

“It was understood as a business arrangement, on both sides”, the man said firmly. “You see, she and her equally unpleasant siblings had all expected to gain access to their funds when Lord Ferdinando, the son, reached twenty-five last year. But when he did, it turned out their late father had left a little surprise in his will. If none of them were married before his eldest son's _thirtieth_ birthday, then the bulk of the estate would go to charity, and they would each be left with a pittance. Lady Frances agreed to marry Chris, she would put the money in we needed for the shop, then they would get a divorce at the first opportunity. The marriage had to have lasted a year and a day to count as valid.”

“How long were they married before she disappeared?” Sherlock asked.

“Four months”, Mr. Delamore said. “Nowhere near long enough for her to get her money.”

“If she is still alive”, I put in.

“Chris wouldn't hurt a fly!” the man said scornfully. “That is what is so wrong about all this. _Everyone_ loses by her disappearance. Business is down because the police keep coming here, and Chris' brother Kip was up for a possible promotion, but that's impossible with all this hanging over the family. And that dratted women's brother and sister were in here the other day – which reminds me, I need to buy a book on setting man-traps!”

I smiled.

“But at least you have the money for the shop”, I pointed out. To my surprise, he shook his head.

“Lady Frances, typically for her, was paying it off in installments”, he said. “Twenty per cent down, ten per cent each of the next three quarters, and the final fifty per cent at the end. Chris and I will have to close down and move back to Ball Alley; we cannot come anywhere near to making the final payment with our cash flow the way it is, and the banks would never loan us money with this hanging over us. We might even have to close.”

Sherlock looked at him thoughtfully.

“I think that I am beginning to see a whole new angle on this crime”, he said slowly. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Delamore. It has been a pleasure meeting you.”

+~+~+

I waited until we were back in our rooms at Baker Street before asking a question, the answer to which I had a strong idea of.

“Mr. Peartree and Mr. Delamore”, I said.

“I am sure that Mr. Delamore at least is too scrupulous to commit adultery”, Sherlock said pointedly. "And as the Argentinians say, it takes two to tango."

“How did you know?” I asked.

“His ring”, Sherlock said. “It was a stylized St. Christopher, for his partner's name. People who wear those for good fortune in their travels usually do so as a necklace, not a ring worn on the wedding-finger. Plus it was not the standard picture of the saint, which suggests that it had been hand-crafted, most likely by one of them. If you remember, he moved to cover it up when he saw me looking at it. And there was his bitter tone when he spoke of the marriage as a business arrangement.”

“So what next?” I asked. 

“I am going to telegraph to Miss Bradbury, and ask her to obtain certain information for me that I think may be useful”, he said. “There is no great hurry. Excepting our involvement, I do not expect any developments in this case for a day at least.”

Now just what did he mean by that?

+~+~+

Amongst my many failings as a human being was a tendency to worry at any excuse. Of course I said nothing to Sherlock about my concerns, and of course, he knew anyway. When he slid into bed beside me that evening, he ran a comforting hand around my jaw. I leaned into the embrace willingly.

“What is it?” he asked gently. I blushed.

“Just, seeing Mr. Delamore today”, I said. “It is so unfair that people like him and like us have to hide what we are. Society should be more accepting, and....”

I stopped, realizing where his hand was headed.

“You cannot always distract me with sex”, I said.

“Can I not?” he asked blithely. “We shall see.”

Using that incredible flexibility of his, he squatted over me, then took my cock in his hand and began to guide me inside him. He must have prepared himself for this, because I went in easily, sliding home as if I belonged there. Which I did.

“Come on, old man!” he teased. “Only than a year until you are the big five-zero!”

I glared at him, and thrust violently upwards. He growled in approval, and countered with a thrust against me that nearly had me coming there and then. I managed to hold back, and we continued, warring as to who could make the other come first. And for once it was a battle that I won (or that he let me win), his walls suddenly clamping me tight as he came with a guttural snarl, although the action drew out my own orgasm and I came just seconds later. He leaned forward and ground his chest into mine, smearing his come between us.

“Round Two later”, he said happily, gently wiping us both down. I smiled, and waited until he had finished before pulling him down beside me, nuzzling behind him as I fell into the blissful arms of Morpheus.

+~+~+

The following day we went round to Carfax Place, and sought an interview with Mr. Christophorius Peartree. He was a tall, handsome blond fellow, albeit clearly bowed down by recent developments. I noted the stylized letter 'X' ring on his wedding-finger which, in his distress, he had neglected to cover up.

“May I ask who has employed you to investigate this case?” he asked.

“Yes”, Sherlock said.

There was an awkward silence.

“You may ask”, he continued. “But as a private consulting detective, I extend that privacy to my clients. I am sure you understand that I cannot reveal their name. However, I will tell you that is in their interests that your wife be found as soon as possible, and I fully intend to make sure that that happens.”

“Well then, you may be interested in this”, he said, taking a silver platter with a letter on it and passing it to Sherlock. “The original came this morning, hand-delivered. I informed the police at once, of course, but I insisted that I be allowed to write out a copy. I am afraid that I do not fully trust the sergeant allocated to the case.”

Sherlock read it and passed it onto me. It was a hand-written note, signed by Lady Carfax, stating that unless a large sum of money was deposited in a bank account within three days, she would be murdered by her captors.

“Was the original in your wife's writing?” Sherlock asked.

“It was”, the man said glumly. “Her scrawl is unmistakable. But even if I sold my half of the business and cashed in all my investments, I could barely make this sum. I will have to take out a loan.”

“I would advise you not to do that”, Sherlock said. The man looked shocked.

“Mr. Holmes, there may be no love in our marriage, but I would not let my wife die at the hands of the villains who hold her.”

“We spoke with Mr. Delamore yesterday”, Sherlock said.

Our host visibly tensed.

“How is Xav... how is he doing?” he asked quietly.

“Business is down, of course”, Sherlock said. “Mr. Peartree, I wish to help you. But I need to ask some of your servants certain questions, and I need you to be guided by me. If you do, I can all but guarantee that your wife will be physically unharmed.”

He smiled wanly.

"All _but_ guarantee?” he asked.

“It is better that than your complete ruination”, Sherlock said. “Tell me; did your wife have a personal maid?”

He laughed hollowly.

“We tried employing one several times, but none lasted”, he said. “She could not even keep a companion, with her attitude! Three of the housemaids cleaned her room on a rota system, and they all hated doing it.”

“Kindly summon them”, Sherlock said, sitting back in his chair.

+~+~+

A few minutes later, three almost identical young girls were stood in a row by the fireplace, all looking decidedly nervous.

“I thank you ladies for sparing me some of your most precious time”, Sherlock said courteously. “Now, Lady Carfax disappeared on a Friday. Which of your ladies had the onerous task of attending her for that particular day?”

The blonde one of the three stepped forward and curtsied.

“I did, sir”, she muttered.

“And you are?” Sherlock asked gently. She looked frankly horrified, seemingly thinking that this was some sort of trick question. 

“Sally, sir”, she quavered at last. “I do Thursdays and Fridays.”

“Hello, Sally”, Sherlock smiled. The girl seemed to relax a little under his warmth. “I need to know if Lady Frances went out at all prior to her disappearance, that is all.”

“Only to the library on Thursday, sir”, she said. “I went with her, to carry her books.”

“Hmm”, Sherlock said. “Who had Wednesdays?”

“Me, sir”, another girl said, stepping forward. “Bobbie; I do Mondays and Tuesdays too. She went to the City on Tuesday, and came back in a foul mood! We all hid as much as we could.”

“And Wednesday?” Sherlock prompted.

“She didn't go out that day, but she had two visitors”, the girl said. “Two very large, rough-looking men. I didn't like them one little bit!”

“You did well to observe what you did”, Sherlock smiled. He looked at the third girl, and frowned. “And you are?”

“Millie, sir”, she said, curtseying. “I do weekends.”

Sherlock nodded, and stared at her in silence. She fidgeted.

“I think that you had better tell me _exactly_ what happened, Millie”, he said sharply, his tone quite different from the one in which he addressed the other maids. The girl looked at her friends for support, clearly horrified.

“Sir?” she asked.

“The police statements claimed that Lady Carfax left the house on Friday afternoon, unseen by her staff, and was not missed until a maid took her tea up at four o'clock precisely”, Sherlock said. “But you clearly know something in addition to that. Please tell us.”

She gulped.

“There's a service-entrance at the back, sir”, she said. “Friday, I was cleaning the back room, and I opened the window to let in some fresh air. About three, it was. Two men were hoisting a huge crate down the back path, and they had a cart waiting in Byland Terrace. I... I thought......”

She trailed off. I knew full well what she had thought.

“You have not mentioned this to the police?” Sherlock asked. 

She shook her head.

“I will pass this information on for you as an anonymous tip-off”, he said, to her evident relief, turning back to Mr. Peartree. “Thank you, sir, for your servants' time.”

Our host dismissed the three maids, and as they left the butler arrived with a telegram. His master read it, and went pale.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

“They have arrested Xav!” he said, clearly angry. “He says that they found the same paper as the ransom note was on the shop counter, and the message was written by the same type of pen he keeps next to it. Ridiculous! Anyone could have put that paper there! And it is definitely Fran's writing!”

“I doubt that anyone 'put it there'”, Sherlock said with a smile. “This has indeed been a most interesting case, Mr. Peartree. I suggest that you attend to your partner, whilst the doctor and I will locate your wife.”

“She could be anywhere!” he said bitterly.

“I would expect her to be in only one of four places”, Sherlock said, to the mystification of both of us. “We shall of course do you the courtesy of informing you immediately there are any developments, and I expect those very soon. Please do not do anything unless I tell you, sir. Your whole future may depend on it.”

+~+~+

“How did you know that Lady Frances could only be in one of _four_ places?” I asked, as our cab headed back to Baker Street.

“Because I know the nature of the evil mind behind this foul crime”, he said. “In theory, of course, she could indeed be anywhere, and I really hope that I am right because I would not wish to have to restrain Mr. Peartree from ruining himself to no end.”

“His wife's life may be in danger”, I reminded him.

“I sincerely doubt that”, he said. “We will dispatch a telegram to Inspector Baldur and ask if he can spare us his good self and a couple of constables; I am sure he would welcome some non-nappy time! We will have to alert certain other constabularies in case, but if the lady is where I think she is, it would boost his standing to be in on the capture of our criminal. Especially considering who it is!”

+~+~+

The following day, Sherlock and I took a cab to Waterloo Station, where we found Inspector Baldur and two of his constables waiting for us. Sherlock purchased five first-class tickets for Sunbury-on-Thames, still refusing to say why we were heading there. He had asked me to bring my revolver, though.

“Not that I think we will really need it”, he said. “Indeed, the danger posed by this particular criminal is quite unique. But it is better to be safe than sorry.”

We arrived at the Middlesex railway station, and two cabs took us to a large and rather ugly brick building on the riverside. There were high and spiked metal railings all the way around the outside. I looked inquiringly at my friend.

“It used to be an asylum”, he explained, “but they built a better and larger one across the river in Surrey, and sold this as a private house. A rather appropriate choice, if as I believe our criminal mastermind is indeed here.”

Sherlock knocked at the door, and a footman opened it. To my surprise, he promptly pushed past him despite his weak protestations. The four of us hastily followed.

“Who is it, Albert?” came an imperious voice from an open door to one side of the huge hall. Sherlock grinned, changed direction and walked over to it, pushing it open and walking through. We all followed, despite the footman's continuing complaints. A large lady was sat on the couch, squinting at us in a most unwelcoming fashion.

“Who are you?” she demanded haughtily.

“Gentlemen”, Sherlock smiled. “Allow me to present the kidnapper of Lady Frances Carfax. Her name? Lady Frances Carfax!”

We all stared at him dumbfounded. 

“This is a private residence!” the lady snapped. “I will have you forcibly removed!”

“Not until Mr. Holmes here explains what the hell is going on”, Inspector Baldur said firmly, seating himself comfortably into one of the large fireside chairs. “This should be good.”

“It is”, Sherlock said. “The willful attempt to destroy a husband, orchestrated by his own wife.”

“Hardly a wife!” the lady snapped. “I know what he and that so-called partner of his got up to in that nasty little shop of theirs! I saw them _kissing!_ ”

“Quite recently”, Sherlock said, “Lady Carfax here made an unannounced call on her husband at his shop, and discovered that his relationship with his business partner was a rather closer one that he had led her to believe....”

“Adultery!” she spat out.

“Fraud, mis-representation, and a deliberate and malicious attempt to destroy a human being”, Sherlock retorted. “You decided then and there to ruin your husband, and you took great pleasure in so doing. You arranged for two dubious-looking men to call on your apartment, and made sure that they were seen by your servants. It is doubtless annoying for you that they disliked you sufficiently not to inform the police of that fact, but on Friday you walked out of your house unseen, and came here.”

“Why here?” I asked.

“I knew from her description that Lady Carfax 'liked her comforts'”, Sherlock said. “Miss Bradbury informed me that the Carfaxes had four country houses; here, one in Norfolk, one in Cornwall and one in Ross-shire. I estimated that, since she would not wish to put herself to any more expense than was absolutely necessary, she would choose her nearest residence for her 'bolt-hole', though I did arrange for the three constabularies in those areas to check those houses if they did not hear from me by the end of today, just in case.”

“You bastard!” she snapped.

“Undeniably”, he said coldly. “You continued the charade by arranging for your actors to be seen removing a large crate along the back of your property immediately after your departure, the implication being that there might be a body in there. But you did something far, far worse. You took not only some sheets of writing paper from the shop where your husband's partner worked, but also took his pen to write the ransom note with.”

“Has he been charged?” she demanded, with an eagerness that I found frankly sickening.

“He has not”, Inspector Baldur said. “I sent a warning to the sergeant who had taken him in for questioning that developments this day might make such an action look foolhardy in the extreme, and that he should delay for twenty-four hours. Mercifully he for once saw sense and held back.”

“I have done nothing wrong”, she said haughtily. “And you are still trespassing!”

“That is debatable”, Sherlock said. “A prosecution for extortion would however be difficult to prove.”

The lady sneered.

“However”, he went on, “it would have behooved the 'lady' here to check the contents of her late father's will before embarking on this act of vindictiveness. I rather fear that she may find it to have been a most _expensive_ oversight on her part.”

“What do you mean?” Lady Carfax demanded.

“Well, I took the trouble of doing what you palpably did not, and reading the _whole_ will”, Sherlock said with a knowing smile. “One clause is particularly interesting. If any of you spends any time behind bars - and being held for questioning in a police cell would qualify - before Lord Ferdinando reaches the age of thirty, then that person loses any entitlement to the estate. But I am sure that when your brother and sister encouraged you in this foolishness, they did make sure to mention that particular clause?”

From the lady's thunderous expression, I surmised that that would have been a 'no'. The inspector grinned and pulled out his handcuffs.

“Lady Frances Carfax”, he said slowly, “I am arresting you for attempted extortion. I must caution you that anything you say can and will be used in evidence against you.”

“And that is not the worst part”, Sherlock added. 

“What?” I asked.

“The courts can grant Mr. Peartree a _decree nisi_ on the grounds of unreasonable behaviour”, Sherlock said. “In six months, that becomes a decree absolute. Had you waited just two more months, my lady, you might have got away with it.”

“He will never get a court hearing that quickly”, she snapped.

“Next Monday, nine o'clock”, Sherlock snapped back. “Sometimes it pays to have friends in high places. And under the terms of your marriage, your husband now has full control of your funds, and can complete the purchase of his shop.”

She rose and advanced on him with surprising speed for a lady of her bulk, but Inspector Baldur was quicker, and he and the two constables restrained her, though it took a struggle. She was escorted from the room, spitting angrily but defeated.

+~+~+

There was, I fretted to Sherlock, the danger that a vengeful Lady Carfax might try to ruin her husband by spreading rumours about him and his partner, but through her lawyer, Sherlock made clear to her that such a move would be inherently unwise. Miss Bradbury had more than enough on the 'kidnapping victim' to socially ruin her if she were to try such a thing. She quitted England soon after, and I doubt that anyone shed a tear - unless it was one of happiness.

I was happy later that day when we called in at Paddington Station with Inspector Baldur and obtained the release of Mr. Xavier Delamore, who had been detained for questioning (the sour expression on Sergeant Winter's face was most definitely a joy to behold). Both jewellers thanked Sherlock profusely once they were outside.

“We are going to the shop for a celebration drink”, Mr. Peartree said. “You are welcome to join us, gentlemen.”

“I think we will let you have some time together”, Sherlock said with a smile. “But be prepared. I intend to recommend Peartree's to several friends of mine over the coming weeks, so you may experience a slight surge in business.”

They thanked him again and went off in a cab. Sherlock and I waited for Inspector Baldur, and we both took our own cabs, he and his constables to their station, and Sherlock and I to dear Baker Street.

+~+~+

Our next case would involve another lady who went that one step too far.


End file.
